“Assuredly, madame; I was with him at the station.”
“And you think no one saw him?”
“No one, madame, but myself.”
“And—what kind of a man was he?”
Monsieur Ribaud lifted his shoulders, threw out his hands despairingly, yet with a world of significance, and said:—
“An American.”
“Ah!”
The carriage drove on and entered the gates of the chateau. And Monsieur Ribaud, cafe proprietor and Social Democrat, straightened himself in the dust and shook his fist after it.